


Nothing Has to Change Today

by emdop



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Happy Ending, Horny Jaskier | Dandelion, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Not Beta Read, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, my apologies for the typos, mysterious bottle of oil for lube, so much thirst in this fic, those last two are mild but i figured id take them anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emdop/pseuds/emdop
Summary: Stuck in a cave with an impending snow storm, Geralt and Jaskier are left with little options to stay warm except sharing a bed roll.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 487
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Tell Ourselves a Good Lie

Jaskier wants to touch Geralt. Like all the time. Tactile in nature, Jaskier loves skin: soft, calloused, dark, light, stretch marks, freckles, moles, sensitive, or tough. Scars hold a special place in his heart because they are stories of survival. Jaskier marvels at how the skin stitches itself together, and each time he sees a scar, the tips of his finger beg to know the details. Perhaps this is why each time Jaskier sees Geralt, he has to force his hands to touch anywhere but their desired location. He flings them through the air, plucks the strings on his lute, clasps them behind his back, or clutches his ale for dear life. Geralt’s personal space bubble is two feet around and Jaskier is grateful that he’s allowed inside it, but respects that touch isn’t something Geralt likes casually.

He imagines what it would be like to touch Geralt the way he wants. He’d start at his jaw cupping his face then sliding them down to his shoulders. Solid and wide, his hands couldn’t touch everything at once. So he’d stay there for awhile. Use his mouth, teeth, and tongue to know him, memorize those scars and taste. He’d taste like salt and the outdoors. Jaskier would work his way down each arm, pausing at the crook of his elbow to savor the delicate skin there—leave a red mark so each time Geralt bends his arm, he’d remember Jaskier. Sucking his finger into his mouth, Jaskier would get to know the power held in those hands. Oh, the hours he’d spend on his chest, slowly going down to those dusky nipples. Further, further.

Jaskier’s imagining what he’d do to Geralt’s hips when Roach’s hoof snapping a twig shakes him out of it. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, annoyed. He guesses that this isn’t the first time he’s said his name. He walks beside Roach leading her through the terrain. 

“Hmm,” Jaskier directs his attention to Geralt. 

“We won’t make it to town before the storm hits. Need to find shelter.” 

Jaskier gazes at the monotone grey sky and doesn’t see any approaching storm, but trusts that Geralt knows what he’s talking about and he’s tired of walking anyway. Without his fantasies to keep him warm, the cold makes him shiver. Old, dirty snow covers the ground and drips from the trees, sometimes landing on his head. Now, he’s wet, cold, and horny with no way to fix any of those problems. Great. He hugs himself, huddling his limbs close. 

A freezing wind rips through their path and Jaskier tries to shield his face from it but the air scrapes his numbing, raw skin. He whimpers. Jaskier loves traveling with Geralt but at times like this, he misses his old life. He still wouldn’t change his decisions, even if he’d do just about anything to lie in a warm bed tonight. 

A heavy cloak drapes his shoulders. He recognizes it as Geralt’s black cloak which has much the same effect that Geralt himself has on him: warmth and safety. It smells like him and Jaskier inhales the scent of winter wind, leather, Roach, and chamomile. 

“Geralt, are you sure? Don’t you need this?” Jaskier asks, knowing it would suck to give up the cloak now that its in his clutches. 

“No, the cold does not effect me the same way,” he says, terse as usual. 

Jaskier hums and wishes that he could play his lute, but alas, it’s too cold. Instead he settles for interrogating Geralt, his other favorite activity. “You never explained that.”

“What’s to explain?”

“Do you feel the cold at all? If not, are you in danger of injuring yourself on accident? And does that mean you are extra warm or cold like the outside, so it doesn’t bother you?”

“I feel cold,” he says, pausing for a long while. Long enough that Jaskier began to think that was all he was going to say. “I prefer a warmer temperature than this.” His eyes search the hard ground covered with snow, then study the bare trees. 

Jaskier skips, careful to keep the cloak shut tight. “Geralt of Rivia! Do you have a favorite season?” Excitement threads through his voice. He’s getting to know his Witcher, nothing is more important in this moment. “You must tell me. This is of the utmost importance. If you withhold this delectable morsel of information from me, I will consider it a grievous betrayal of our dear friendship.”

Geralt raises a brow. “We’re not friends.”

Jaskier gapes and his cheeks heat with frustration. “We’ve gone over this—

Geralt shakes his head. “I tease you, Jaskier. We are friends.”

Mollified, Jaskier nods and fights a brilliant smile because he still can’t get over those words leaving Geralt’s mouth. They warm his soul each time and, truthfully, he’d never admit aloud, but he loves Geralt’s teases because they lead to admissions of affection. 

They walk together in silence with nothing but their steps and whistling wind making noise. It’s comfortable with the exception of the cold, and even with Geralt’s cloak, Jaskier’s fingers grow numb. Next time, he’ll buy the dull mittens Geralt told him to buy instead of the sleek calf skin gloves that are doing little to shield his poor fingers now. Geralt leads them off the main path and into the thicker woods. Dead leaves, ice, and twigs crunch under their footsteps. Jaskier stomps on them harder, satisfied by the sounds they make when squashed. Mm, good sounds, he thinks. Geralt side-eyes his feet, but says nothing and continues searching the area for what Jaskier hopes is shelter. The stomping doesn’t help his aching feet, yet he can’t stop wanting to smash the crunchy forrest floor to bits. A few steps ahead an ice puddle begs to be crushed to smithereens under Jaskier’s foot. He runs to it and jumps with both feet, aiming to obliterate it with one stomp. Only the puddle is deeper than he estimated and therefore stronger, so instead of breaking, it remains unhurt. Jaskier does not. He slips and wobbles, scraping his hand on a tree nearby. Once his feet aren’t on ice, he puts a hand up to Geralt, waving his concern away. 

“I’m fine. Stupid, but fine.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks in facsimile of a smile. They continue moving forward and Jaskier holds his cloak closer to his face, breathing deep. In his mind, he pictures Geralt’s little smile and his stomach flips. Beautiful and tender and teasing. He’d love to know what Geralt looks like when he comes. If that mouth drops open in pleasure or if he grits his teeth and shoulders through the delight as if he never felt it in the first place. 

“Autumn,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier gazes at him, trying to follow his thought process. Did he miss part of their conversation? 

He continues when he spots Jaskier confusion. “My favorite season.”

Joy brightens Jaskier’s face before he can help it and a million follow up questions flood his mind, but he manages to hold them inside as to not overwhelm Geralt. His patience is rewarded as Geralt continues speaking. 

“I can still feel the warm rays of the sun, but it’s cool enough that leather doesn’t stick to my skin…it’s nice. So many color in the trees.”

Jaskier gapes for a second time. “Who knew you were such a foliage slut.”

Geralt shrugs. “What can I say? Dying leaves get me hot.”

Jaskier laughs and wheezes while a satisfied smirk crosses Geralt’s face. “Anyone who claims you are stiff and humorless, clearly has never met you, my dear Witcher.”

Geralt hums and moves them along a different path, and in the distance, Jaskier sees a large shadow that may be a hill or a cave. Finally, a break from the terrible chilling wind. Jaskier walks faster with a destination in sight. Geralt doesn’t even need to change pace to stay in line with him, which makes Jaskier wonder about his mutations. Not one to brag or even share details, Geralt doesn’t divulge information about himself without prodding or a dire situation. The latter is how he learned about the Witcher’s different potions and why he knows Geralt can see far into the dark. Jaskier knows about his enhanced hearing merely from observing Geralt and the times he’s flinched at moderately loud sounds. There was also the one memorable time that Jaskier pretended to lip read an arguing couple, making up wild details about their fight until Geralt stopped him and told him they were fighting about a missing child and what to do about it. He got paid handsomely for that contract and the child lived, returned to a loving home— a rare happy ending. 

The large hill/cave comes closer into view and Jaskier is all but running toward it. Geralt falls behind snapping dry branches from trees for fire wood. He collects them until he has a nice large bundle in his arms. Eventually, they reach the front of a cave and Jaskier sighs at the sight of it. Inside, protected from the wind, Jaskier starts to feel his face again, which prickles and tingles. Geralt lets go of Roach’s reign and drop the bundle of wood onto the center of the cave’s opening. 

“Start a fire,” he says to Jaskier, “I must get supplies. With the way this wind blows, we’ll be here for a long while.” He watches Jaskier start to prepare the fire, then adds, “You should change into something dry, it’ll help.”

Jaskier nods and continues his work while Geralt leaves. Once the fire pit is ready for Geralt’s sign, Jaskier takes his advice and changes into dry clothes from his pack and while getting out of the damp ones helps, his other set of clothes are thinner. He busies himself by preparing the camp, kicking rocks out of the way and flattening surfaces for their bedrolls. He unloads Roach and sets up their beds, snacking on dried fruit from their rations as he goes. With the camp done, he moves on to Roach, mimicking the things he’s seen Geralt do, brushing her and freeing her of their bags. He guides her partially into the cave so she’s protected from the wind and feeds her a handful of grain. 

Geralt returns with more fire wood, some kindling, and a sack of something else. He flicks his hand and a warm fire flares. Jaskier basks his hand near it, relief surging through his body. He sits on his bed rolls and soaks in the fire’s heat. Geralt hands him the burlap sack which turns out to be a collection of nuts, edible plants, and other such food items. 

“I have to go hunting. It may take longer with coming the storm. Will you be okay on your own for a while?”

“Of course,” Jaskier says, then yawns. “I may take a nap.”

Geralt nods and disappears into the wilderness once again. Jaskier looks at Roach whose chosen to lie down, her legs tucked close to her body. 

“What would I do without him?” He says to her. She huffs and Jaskier crawls toward her to scratch behind her ear. He does so, then lean his back against her side. He sighs and closes his eyes, drifting off to thoughts of what Geralt is doing right now.


	2. We Fall Apart as it Gets Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a tease

Jaskier awakes to Geralt returning. His body shakes from the cold despite the fire and Roach’s closeness. Geralt sets down several hares and adds wood to the fire, stoking it so it returns to its former warmth. Jaskier flexes his fingers and rubs them together, although the trembling of his body makes it difficult. 

“Thought you said you’d be fine on your own,” Geralt says. 

“I am fine.” Jaskier tucks his hand under his arms. 

Geralt picks up his bedroll and walks with it to the other side of the fire, nearer Jaskier. “Hmm.” He tosses it beside Jaskier’s. “Get in your bedroll while I make dinner.”

Jaskier huffs. “Bossy,” he mumbles, knowing full well Geralt will hear it and that he will do as he’s told. Getting warm is what he wants after all. He snuggles into the bedroll, shifting toward the fire, close as he can get. In front of him, he watches Geralt work. He perseveres two hares and prepares the one they’ll eat tonight. One hare won’t fill both their stomachs but Geralt will give him the larger portion anyway. Geralt salts and rubs some spices into the meat for Jaskier, because he’s the one who cares if their food is edible and, ya know, tastes good. With all of Geralt’s hyper-senses, one would think he’d have a love for fine food. Perhaps it was another thing Witchers are trained not to love; if it doesn’t serve them on the Path, then it doesn’t belong in their lives. What a tragedy. Jaskier sighs and Geralt gives him a look, misinterpreting his lament. 

“Do you have a favorite food?” Jaskier says, sleepiness still in his voice. 

Geralt continues working as if he didn’t hear him, but eventually answers. “Favorite foods are for people who like food.”

Jaskier stares at Geralt. “You don’t like food?!”

“It fuels me, nothing more. It’s a necessity.” Geralt prepares a spinning rod for the hare, unconcerned by Jaskier’s outburst. 

“Oh, dear Witcher, food is so much more than that,” he says, pulling the bedroll covers close to his face, tucking the fabric and his hands under his chin. “You get pleasure from sex, right?”

Geralt’s eyes flick toward Jaskier. “Where are you going with this, Bard?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” he continues, ignoring Geralt’s testy tone. “Sex was created for procreation, much like food’s needed for survival. Only, there’s many wonderful reasons to enjoy it, to experiment, to discover. You can’t father children, but that doesn’t stop you from needing, wanting the process. Why can’t that same concept apply to food? Honestly, Geralt, have you ever finished a meal you wish you could eat again?

“Hmm,” he responds, thinking. “And what about the people who don’t crave sex? Can’t there be people who feel the same about food?”

“Sure, but you are not one of those people.” Jaskier tries to save himself from getting lost in his own metaphor. Perhaps, he should do more thinking before he opens his mouth. Eh, whatever, he continues, “So tell me what’s your favorite food?”

Geralt puts the hare over the fire and they both listen to the crackling of the wood and the simmer of fat hitting the flames. 

“There’s a man in Temeria who sells candied apples. Dips them in warm buttery, sugar. I’d like to eat one of those again.”

Jaskier smiles. “Sounds wonderful. What do they taste like?” He tries to hide his shivering so he can keep listening to Geralt talk. He could listen to him for hours yet the man rarely talks. Another tragedy. 

Geralt spins the hare. “Sweet and savory yet sharp and crisp. They remind me of Rivia.”

His throat swelling with emotion. “They taste like home,” Jaskier says, swallowing the tears and coughs to distract himself. Geralt gives him a dismissive hum, but Jaskier chooses to believe it’s true. 

Silent minutes pass while Jaskier stares at the dancing shadows on the cave’s ceiling from the fire. It’s peaceful despite the cold and the whipping wind outside. Jaskier’s thoughts whirl around Geralt’s food tastes. He wonders what kinds of fish he likes best and what wines flush his fair skin. He wants to know if Geralt loves all sweets or just candied apples. Jaskier wants to watch Geralt eat something he loves. Would he lick his fingers afterward? That little pink tongue slipping out to gather each last morsel 

“Food’s ready,” Geralt says, taking the hare off the fire. “And stop thinking about whatever is on your mind.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Why?”

“It’s loud and distracting,” he states, as if that means anything. 

“My thoughts are loud?! What are you a mind reader?” Jaskier pauses then narrow his eyes at Geralt. He does seem to know what Jaskier is thinking a great deal of the time. Jaskier’s eyeballs nearly pop out of his head at this conclusion. “Oh gods! Tell me that’s not true. There’s no way you can read minds. Right?

Geralt smirks. “No, if I could hear your thoughts, you would’ve been long dead.”

Jaskier sighs his relief, then sits. “Hey! I’m not that annoying.”

“Hmm.” He hands Jaskier a plate of food.

They eat while Jaskier pleads his case for his supposed charming personality between bites. The warmth of the food helps Jaskier’s shivers, but the cold still nips at his skin and he starts to worry about how long they’ll have to stay here. While bickering about an incident in Redania where Jaskier jumped out a window to escape an angry spouse and Geralt failed to catch him, the storm hits. Big globs of snow and ice pile on the ground and and whip through the trees. 

“So much of a Witcher you are. Can’t even catch a man from one story up,” Jaskier pouts and finishes the last of his food. 

Geralt grunts. “I told you to wait.”

“The guy had a butcher knife,” Jaskier raises his voice and shakes his fists in a stabbing gesture. “Under what circumstance would it have been a good idea to wait.”

Geralt’s golden eyes stare at him. “The one where the person catching you told you to wait.”

Jaskier waves a hand, dismissing. “This is no use. We’re going in circles.” Cold bites his fingers so he brings them close to his mouth and blows hot air on them. He gives Geralt his plate to put away and snuggles back into his bedroll, hoping to get warmer. His face numbs and tingles, so he rubs it with his slightly less cold fingers and tucks his face into the covers as far as he can. He listens to Geralt shuffle around their camp, cleaning up after their dinner and caring for Roach and he swears he hears the smack of a kiss. Of course Geralt would kiss Roach goodnight.   
Jaskier wants to roll his eyes, but instead his heart warms and melts a little. Okay, maybe a lot. 

“Here,” Geralt says, gruff and short. The pressure of Geralt’s wool blanket covers Jaskier. “It’s only going to get colder.” 

“Colder?!” Jaskier groans from under his covers.

“Yes,” he answers his rhetorical question. “Would you like me to explain weather to you?”

Jaskier laughs. “You know what? Yes! Can’t wait to hear what professor Geralt has in store for me.” He can practically hear Geralt’s eyes roll and snuggles into his bedroll even more, ready to be the most annoying student to have ever graced the land. 

“Let’s start with the water cycle,” Geralt says, pauses, then continues, “No, that’s too advanced. How about we define precipitation first?”

“You’re an ass,” Jaskier snickers. He closes his eyes, planning on drifting off to the sound of Geralt’s voice. 

A small chuckle escapes Geralt, deep and gravely, which goes straight to Jaskier’s heart, making it beat faster. That sound. So wonderful and precious, Jaskier wishes he could hear it again and again. In this moment, Jaskier vows to make Geralt laugh more, preferably a belly laugh with real gusto and he’ll take those memories to his grave, dying a happy man. 

“Are you okay?” Geralt asks. “Your heart’s beating a little fast.”

Jaskier hum. “I’m fine…I don’t think ever heard you laugh before.”

Geralt settles beside him, getting into his own bedroll. “It happens on occasion. Sorry to freak you out.”

Jaskier turns toward Geralt and sits, letting the blankets fall away. He puts a hand to his chest, over his heart. “This isn’t fear, love. Human hearts beat faster for many reasons. This time it’s happiness. I’m never scared of you, sometimes for you, but never of you.”  
Geralt stares and gives him minuscule shake of the head. “You have the survival instincts of a rabid squirrel.”  
Jaskier responds with a tender smile and runs a thumb over Geralt’s cheekbone—the touch thrilling and comforting, his face so warm and soft compared to Jaskier chilly, calloused fingers. “I’ve always known the safest place is beside you.” 

Geralt blinks, eyes wide, then tilts his head like a confused puppy. 

Jaskier retracts his hand and lays down, pulling the covers around him tight. “Or maybe that’s the rabies talking.”

The exposure to the cold has Jaskier shivering again, so he thinks warm thoughts and tries to pretend he isn’t freezing. Wind howls outside the cave and little snow flakes make it inside, getting near the fire, then evaporating. He relaxes, closes his eyes, and drifts off, dreaming of candied apples during autumn. 

An unknown amount of time later, Geralt’s large hand shakes his shoulder. Blinking, and wiping sleep from his eyes, Jaskier looks around. Geralt has used the next batch of wood to restart the fire. An ominous grey light comes from the opening of the cave’s suggesting the storm is very much not over, merely paused. 

“You’re getting too cold,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier assesses his body. “I feel fine.” He shrugs. 

Geralt’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, that’s the problem. Your body is preparing for death, easing the pain.”

“I’M DYING!” Jaskier shouts and Geralt winces at the sound. “Geralt! You can’t just say things like that.”

Geralt’s mouth twists into a scowl. “I can if they’re true. Now, make room, we have to share a bedroll.”

Jaskier blinks and shakes his head. “Share what?”

“The. Bed. Roll.” Geralt responds, slow and annoyed. 

Jaskier’s heart beats faster. “For whatever reason?”

“To share body heat. Obviously.” Geralt pushed Jaskier back by the shoulders and shimmies into the bedroll, feet first. They barely fit. 

This close, Geralt smell hits Jaskier in the face and dries his mouth and Jaskier thanks his dick for not waking up yet, because otherwise this might get even more awkward than it already is. Woodsy, musky, and all Geralt, Jaskier overwhelms himself with each inhale. Once settled, the crook of Geralt neck is eye level with Jaskier and he has the desperate urge to kiss and bite that soft skin. Oh, it would taste so good. 

“Come closer, you’ll rip the bedroll if you don’t,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier nods unable to say anything. He scoots toward him until his forehead rests on Geralt’s collar bone. Heat curls around him and the desire to touch more makes his fingers clench. Geralt and his wide shoulders, thick biceps, and sturdy thighs. Jaskier wants to grind against him, let his body know him in the most intimate of ways. Geralt’s body heat swirls around Jaskier and his skin thaws. More tingles and scratchy pain crests his nerves as they awaken. Jaskier shakes more, uncontrollable and annoying—he only wants to fall asleep in Geralt’s arms. 

“There you go,” Geralt says. His voice resonates in the small space between, deep and quiet. It sends another shiver up Jaskier’s spine, albeit for an entirely different reason. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s lithe body, pulling him even closer. 

“My skin hurts,” Jaskier mutters and Geralt rubs his back in gentle circles. His muscles clench, but soon melt into their new position. Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s chest and their hip align. Geralt pulls Jaskier’s tunic up and brushes aside any clothing or blanket separating his fingers from Jaskier’s bare skin. Sword-calloused fingers slide along his goosebumps and draw soothing patterns. Jaskier leans into the touch and Geralt increases his pressure, using his palms, massaging into his hips and ribs. Warm and intimate, they breathe together, curling closer with each touch. Geralt finds all of his most sensitive spots, pressing into them in the most delicious of ways, then abandons them for somewhere neutral. 

Right when Jaskier gets him where he wants him, he retreats, touching other places, forcing warmth to flood all of him, instead of starting a fire. Jaskier’s body screams for friction, needing to be known, to be seen. Please, he thinks, set me aflame. Jaskier wants the heat to ravage them both and wants to feel Geralt burn him down. 

Time passes and Jaskier’s shakes devolve into shivers then calm into chills. Finally, their combined body heat soothes Jaskier’s skin and he knows   
he’s warm and safe from the cold. Geralt settles his hands on Jaskier’s ribs, ending his massage. 

“Please don’t stop,” Jaskier whispers. 

“We need to sleep and conserve energy,” Geralt responds, all logic, but still a layer of kindness in his voice. 

“Fine,” Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around Geralt and closing his eyes to sleep. 

His lips and teeth devour him, leaving devastation in their wake. Nothing will ever compare to this. Geralt sucks a nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue along the sensitive areola. Jaskier pulls on Geralt’s hair, moaning and desperate to have more and more. Geralt kisses down his stomach and those beautiful golden eyes glance at Jaskier through their fair lashes and watch him. Geralt takes Jaskier in hand and his pink tongue flicks out, catching the bead of precum dripping from Jaskier’s prick. Jaskier nearly screams.

“That’s so good, please give me more,” he says between breathy moans. 

Geralt smirks. “If that’s what you want…”

“Yes!” Jaskier shouts, impatient and so very turned on. He’s about to say more when Geralt swallows his head. “Fuck.”

Jaskier awakes moaning and hard as fuck and in Geralt’s arms. His body demands release with heat curling in his stomach and a tight sack. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He can’t cum like this in Geralt’s arms. Panic surges through him more as Geralt’s eyes flicker then open. 

“Everything okay? I though I heard something.” He says, sleep thick in voice. Raspy, tired, and so sexy, Jaskier leaks a little more. 

After a calming breath, Jaskier says, “I’m fine. Just a dream.” His fingers crossed, hoping that Geralt doesn’t notice his predicament. 

“Hmm,” he hums, then his eyes catch on something past Jaskier. “Fire’s almost out.” He rolls Jaskier onto his back and supports himself with a hand near Jaskier’s head. Geralt places his knees on each side of Jaskier hips to steady himself and reaches for the fire wood.

Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath. So, this is what it’s like to be underneath Geralt. His body loves the situation, encouraging him with a flush over his skin and clutching his hand on Geralt’s waist. Geralt drops his hips, shifting to reach the wood, which causes him to rub against Jaskier. Eyes rolling back into head, Jaskier stifles a moan and relishes the feeling of Geralt’s body grinding into his own very turned on one. UnNHHHGGG, that’s so good, fuck. 

Geralt has attended to the fire before he realizes what he’s done to Jaskier, but when he does, he freezes. His pupils wide and cataloging Jaskier’s flush face and bit lip. He leans forward and noses along his neck. 

“You reek of lust,” Geralt says, the words rumbling in his chest and has Jaskier gasping before he can catch his breath. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier breathes, “That’s what happens when the most gorgeous man to exist straddles me.” The sentence exits his mouth before he can   
think it through.

Geralt stares at him harder. “Didn’t you say that about the barkeep last week?”

“No, I said he had most delicate features I’ve seen on a man, great for cocksucking.” Jaskier sighs. “And are you really going to bring up other men, now when I’m hard and wanting?”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitches and he lowers more of his weight onto Jaskier. His cock presses into Geralt’s hip and has him breathing heavily. 

“This is really something you want?” Geralt asks, his thumb swiping over Jaskier’s face like he did to him earlier. 

“Yes,” Jaskier says, lifting his hips to grind into Geralt. He finds him hard and wanting too. They both groan. 

Geralt rolls off of him and slides out of the bedroll in two easy moves, leaving Jaskier alone. Did he already ruin this?

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asks, quiet and nervous. 

“Don’t worry,” Geralt says, searching through his pack, “I was sure I had a bottle of oil somewhere in here.”

Jaskier wants to laugh, but only feels himself calm. Soon enough he has Geralt back in his arms and they’re touching foreheads, breathing each   
other in, hardly believing something so good could be happening. 

“How do you want to do this?” Geralt asks. 

“I want you to touch me,” Jaskier replies, letting his own hands wander. He squeezes Geralt’s arms and shoulders, then stops at his face, cupping. He smiles and Geralt tries to mimic the expression, but he bares his teeth too much and it ends with them both laughing. Calming and wiping tears from his eyes, Jaskier says, “Oh I love you.”

“Love,” Geralt repeats. Jaskier reaches toward him and tucks his fingers into his hair to soothe him. He has no expectations of him saying it back, but Geralt continues, “How do you know when you’re in love?” His face earnest. 

Jaskeir sighs thinking, rifling through the many poetic phrases he’s used to describe love, but none of them feel right in this moment. “You just know. It simmers underneath the skin—eases moments of irritation and boils when there’s joy. You love someone when you want to share your life with them, in bad, in dangerous, in boring, and wonderful times.”

Geralt thinks on it, then says, “I’d like to share my life with you.”

Jaskier beams, then chuckles. “You already do, dummy.”

Geralt huffs then smirks. He leans down and presses his lips to Jaskier neck. “Insolent.” He kisses his collar bone. “Little,” he says, pauses again to nip at the soft spot underneath Jaskier’s chin. “Brat.”

Jaskier giggles and captures Geralt’s mouth. Their lips collide, desperate to have each other. Geralt’s mouth tastes like their dinner and sweet as if he ate one of Roach’s sugar cubes. The Witcher has a sweet tooth. Jaskier smiles between open mouth kisses. Geralt slips a tongue inside   
Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier moans, loving the way they connect. Geralt’s hands explore Jaskier’s body, mapping his arms and chest and stomach. Oh, he knows how to touch him. Pleasure surges between them and hands fumbles with clothing and ties. Jaskier’s shirt goes over his head and he works at Geralt’s before he helps him and throws it to the other side of the cave. Jaskeir’s pants go down first, damn Geralt and his superior dexterity, but fuck, it feels incredible in bed. Geralt’s fingers touch Jaskier, swirling all around him until all Jaskier knows is Geralt. Jaskier connects their mouths again, kissing and kissing, until he’s breathless and Geralt’s breathing heavy. 

“You feel incredible,” Jaskier whispers into Geralt’s skin. Moving to kiss along bare shoulders and neck, Jaskier savors the taste, memorizing 

Geralt in all the ways he’s wanted to since they first met. Geralt’s hands disappear from his body and Jaskier whines. He hears the uncorking of a bottle and Geralt coats his fingers in oil.

“I want to touch that gorgeous prick of yours. You want that?” Geralt says, deep and needy. 

Jaskier groans and pulls himself together to mumble a fuck yeah. His smalls disappear along with his pants and he’s now stark naked underneath Geralt, who still has his pants on for some terrible reason. He’s about to complain when Geralt wraps a hand around his cock. 

“Fuck that’s so good,” Jaskier says, bucking into Geralt’s hand. It twists at the top and pulls down then back up again. “YES, yes, yes.”

The oil soothes the way and Jaskier thanks Geralt for his forethought, because in this cold, a saliva hand job sounds terrible. But this, this is wonderful. Geralt jacks him at a steady pace, keeping him squirming and desiring more. His body has been waiting so long for this release. Heat pulls at his gut and swirls through his chest and muscles tense. Geralt squeezes tighter, getting Jaskier’s attention. 

“You want to come for me?”

“Yes,” Jaskier’s voice comes out thin and reedy, “But I don’t want this to be over so soon.”

Geralt shakes his head. “We’ve got nothing but time and who says we’re only gonna do this once?” He returns to his ministrations and Jaskier’s hand join his, guiding him to match exactly what he likes. Geralt learns fast and starts pulling tricks that get Jaskier moaning loud. 

“Oh, yes, fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier shouts. “Do that again.”

Geralt rubs his thumb over Jaskier slit and repeat his actions. After doing said motion several times, Jaskier comes, spurting over his stomach and Geralt’s hand. He works him through his orgasm and stops when it gets to be too much. 

Jaskier pants. “That was incredible.”

Geralt kisses him. “Wait till you find out what I can do with my mouth.” Jaskier trembles and Geralt leans closer, whispering into his ear. “And my cock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has wayy more feelings than I thought it would and took way longer to write. I hope you enjoyed this little tease of smut. There's more to come...wink, wink


	3. I Can't Escape the Way I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ya know, what ya came here for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've deleted the touch starved tags because this fic turned into something else, so if you came here for that, I'm sorry. I do plan on writing a true touch starved fic soon. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this emotional smut! Leave a comment/check out any of my other fics if you like :)

Jaskier’s cock gives a valiant little twitch at the Witcher’s saucy words. “If it weren’t so godsdamn cold I could give you a run for your coin. What I wouldn’t give for a real bed right now,” Jaskier sighs. 

Geralt shrugs. “I’ve had sex in worse places.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier blinks, shoving a laugh down, “so have I; that’s really not the point.” He runs his hands over Geralt’s body. “I’d prefer to see this masterpiece in candle light while lounging on expensive furs.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes. 

Jaskier huffs. “It’s about the ambiance.” He gestures at their situation. “And gosh, wouldn’t it be nice to have space,” Jaskier leans toward Geralt’s ear, “So I could wrap my legs around those narrow hips while you fuck that gorgeous cock in me.” Jaskier feels Geralt’s shiver under his palms. 

“I think we can still make that happen now,” he responds, desire ruffing his voice. 

“Take off your stupid tight little pants,” Jaskier says, thirst overwhelming him. He pulls at the ties of Geralt’s trousers and struggle with them, getting desperate and frustrated. “If they didn’t make your ass look so delectable, I’d tell you to get new fucking trousers. These are fucking ridiculous.”

Geralt chuckles and stills Jaskier’s hands. “It’ll be easier just to leave them on. Let me.”

In shuffle and tug, Geralt frees himself from the confines of his pants. Jaskier sucks in a breath at the sight. Reddened and hard, his cock leaks onto Jaskier’s bare skin. 

“Oh my,” Jaskier groans, “Promise you’ll let me taste you at the next inn.”

Geralt flashes a lascivious grin. “My body can take the cold, remember? I merely have to lie back while you stay covered and suck my cock.”

“Deal,” Jaskier breaths, “But later. I need you in me first.”

“Technically—

Jaskier cuts him off. “In my ass, love.”

“Impatient.” He says it with annoyance, but coats his fingers in oil and adjusts their legs so, he can reach Jaskier’s hole easier. 

“It’s called knowing what you want. You should try it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, “Say we’re on the road, and I got a craving to cum in that pretty mouth of yours, you’d say yes?”

Jaskier’s heart throbs and he licks his lips, then tries to focus on the question he asked. “Um, I’d consider it.”

Geralt laughs. 

He threads finger through his companion’s white hair. “Twice in one night. I need to get you in bed more often.”

A crease folds between Geralt’s brows as he thinks. “It pleases me that you like my laugh. I don’t know why.” Confusion and slight frustration thread through his voice and Jaskier’s heart melts. My, this wonderful man, he thinks. What a clueless, lovable idiot.

“I know why,” Jaskier says, kissing Geralt’s temple. “But perhaps sticking your fingers in my ass will help you figure out why.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Alright, got the message.” 

One slick finger rims Jaskier’s hole and he relaxes, waiting for the pleasant burn of stretching. He can’t wait to feel it while being impaled on Geralt’s thick cock. The first finger goes in easy and Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief because, fuck, he’s wanted this for so long. He works his finger inside, pressing on all the sensitive spots and has Jaskier squirming in pleasure with ease. 

“Need another,” Jaskier pants. “Please.”

Geralt obliges him and adds another finger. He flicks his wrist quickly, pounding those talented fingers into Jaskier. 

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he sighs. Jaskier’s body clenches around Geralt, wanting to feel him even more—to know the exact bend of his fingers and the shape of his knuckles. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes, “ It’s gonna feel so good when I get my cock in you.” His steamy correction get Jaskier’s blood pumping and needy. “You’re so tight and hot and wet for me.”

“And you,” Jaskier whines and moans as Geralt’s pumps hit his prostate over and over again. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to have you inside? Those powerful fingers drilling me so good, getting me ready for you. I’ll never get enough. You make me insatiable.”

Geralt grunts and guides Jaskier’s hand to his dick. Hard, pulsing, and wanting in his hand, Jaskier grips him, giving a light tug. A sharp breath leaves Geralt. “You feel that? All for you.”

Jaskier smiles. “And I can’t wait to take all of it.” 

Geralt’s cock jumps in his hand and he inserts a third finger, causing Jaskier to moan. “YES! Yes, yes, don’t stop.” He curls in fingers, dragging them along Jaskier’s prostate and stretching his ringed muscle. “Need…need you…. More, more, fuck, yes.”

Jaskier continues to babble while Geralt opens him up. Geralt buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and nip and licks at the sensitive skin there. Pinching it between his teeth, Geralt sucks a red mark on Jaskier’s neck.

“Geralt, that’s so good,” he breathes. “I’m ready. I’m ready. Please fuck me.” 

Golden eyes catch his cornflower blue ones, looking for that final bit of confirmation before they move forward. Jaskier pushes his hip upward, seeking, needing, encouraging. Their cocks brush together and they both have to pause and catch their breaths. When they’ve calmed some, Geralt lines himself with Jaskier’s opening, pushing forward. His head catches on the tight rim. Jaskier’s whole body feels like a raging campfire, so ready to burn everything down in its path, and love every second of it. Gods, he needs Geralt. He slowly settles himself inside Jaskier, filling and stretching him more than his three fingers ever could. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines. “ Your cock, fuck, so incredible.”

To the hilt and fully inside, Geralt stops. “Told you.”

Jaskier slaps Geralt’s arm. “Just move already.”

He hums and kisses Jaskier, distracting him from his demand. Their tongues play and taste and adore until Jaskier lifts his hips, getting Geralt further inside still. They groan in unison, panting through their almost orgasm. 

“OOOhhh,” Jaskier moans, “That’s…damn.”

“I know,” Geralt agrees, then pulls backward, dragging his inches through Jaskier again. He thrusts inside. 

“YES, yes, more, more,” Jaskier says, writhing under Geralt. His hands claw into his back and hold him tight. Geralt thrusts faster, which only causes his nails to dig deeper into the Witcher’s scarred skin. “So big, filling me so good. Ruining me for any other cock. Nothing else will be good enough now.”

Geralt fucks him with a steady force and speed, planting kisses on Jaskier every once in awhile. Warm and dewing with sweat, Jaskier returns the kisses, catching Geralt’s lips, neck and shoulder. Geralt wraps a hand around Jaskier’s prick, gentle but demanding. He twists on the head and squeezes tighter while he gives a harder fuck.

“GOOD lord,” Jaskier shouts. Once his breath returns, he stops Geralt’s hand. “I want to cum on just your cock. It’s all I want and need.”

Geralt stops all movement and closes his eyes, breathing deep. Jaskier cups a hand on his face. 

“You okay?”

Geralt nods. “I’m trying desperately not to cum before you, and you’re making that impossible.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, I had to even the playing field somehow.”

Geralt lets out a breath of a laugh and starts fucking Jaskier again. Slow and deep and languorous. Fucking incredible. He feels every inch of him and the veins pumping blood through his cock. He craves to feel his seed leaking from his asshole and to know that the Witcher will smell himself on him for hours. 

Geralt changes the angle, lifting Jaskier’s leg as far as the bedroll will allow to fuck deeper inside. Jaskier squirms with the need to have more and less at the same time. Tension coils in his body and a warmth that begs for stratification curls in his gut and in his balls. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I’m close, I’m close,” Jaskier whispers, knowing his Witcher will hear it. 

With a few more thrusts, white ropes of cum splatter on his stomach. The orgasm shakes through his muscles, arching his back, flexing his feet and gripping onto Geralt so tight. He breathes heavily, eyes spaced and close to whiting out. Sweet Melitele, he’s sure that was the best orgasm he’s ever had.  
Geralt covers Jaskier in kisses, holding him tight too, still rock hard inside him. 

“Please cum in me,” Jaskier says, biting the lobe of Geralt’s ear. 

His breath gives out and a deep, sonorous moan rumbles through Geralt and Jaskier almost cums again at the sight and feeling of Geralt coming in his arms.  
They stay close to one another touching and memorizing their bodies once again. It’s peaceful and full of tenderness. Eventually, Geralt dampens a cloth and warms it by the fire and cleans them both. They rest and listen to the sounds of the fire and raring storm outside. Roach snores and they snicker at her with love. Geralt finds the bag of rations from from earlier and they finish off the food. Jaskier snuggles close to Geralt and they breathe each other in, satisfied and warm. Safe and loved.


End file.
